100 Written Words
by SolarEllipse
Summary: 100 One-worded written prompts challenge, based around the characters and events of Transformers: Prime. From war to peace, and everything in-between. Currently: Prompts 1-25.
1. Prompts 1-5

Starting posting these a while back on my Tumblr account. I've decided to post them here as well, so that I can actually keep them organized.  
>I started writing these a looooonnng time ago (two years ago to be exact), and since I'm no longing using them as extra school credit, I can finally upload them.<p>

It's a good writing exercise.

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><p><strong><strong>Transformers Prime: 100 Written Prompts Challenge<br>****From war to peace, and everything in-between.

**Prompts 1-5:**

**WAR  
><strong>The war had started everything. It had caused everything. It was the reason for all that had previously happened, and for what was to come. The pain, suffering, and deaths of millions were only the beginning, the mere scraping of the surface. The near extinction of their race, their people divided into two completely different ideologies, each fraction warring with another until there was nothing left. The complete devastation of their home world, and the fact it could no longer support any life. All it had taken was the simple question of a title, to light the first match for the fire.

Now, as Optimus reflected back on the war, he realized he was one of the causes of it.

**IMPOSSIBLE  
><strong>"Oh come on, Wheeljack! You promised!"

The ex-Wrecker sighed for what he believed to be the tenth time in the last half hour. Any friend of Bulkhead's was a friend of his own, and when the green Wrecker had ushered him into meeting his new partner, Wheeljack couldn't have been happier. The prospect of this new partner being a small human child had left him skeptical at first, but he had to admit, the child had grown on him over time. But Primus, was she impossible.

"Listen, kid, if Bulkhead ever got the slightest wind that I was teachin' you to fight, he'd haul me up and kill me faster than –"

"But that's the point; he's not going to find out!" Miko held up the wooden katanas in her hands and pouted. "Besides, I went through a lot of trouble to get these fragging things!"

"…And he's gonna kill me for teachin' you that kind of language too." Another sigh and Wheeljack finally gave in, unsheathing his blades. "Alright, fine, but only this one time and that's it."

He winced when she squealed in delight.

**PLANET  
><strong>Upon immediate arrival on Earth, Soundwave had sent many of the Drones to scour its surface, scouting their new territory for possible information and resources. They complied, of course, without question – however, the nature and culture of the planet spread amongst them like wildfire, and so naturally, they in turn had many unvoiced questions. Why were there so many driving laws and regulations when half of their population didn't even abide by them? How did sporting matches end cleanly, without an opponent being terminated? What was the point of having smaller squishies if all they did was make noise and flop around uselessly?

Then Megatron had left, and they found their freedom had suddenly risen from how limited it once had been. The planet's culture varied from location to location they learned, as more returned from missions with images and tales of the areas they scouted. Some took up the role of trying to explain what they'd seen, with hushed voices in small groups during the late night hours. They cared little of the humans, but their customs both intrigued and baffled them. With ease they found the signals that gave then access to what humans called _'cable television'_, a source of entertainment that played over the monitors when their lieutenants weren't around. They found games and music, hobbies and art, all things that were so different from Cybertron, and yet things they still never had the luxury of having.

And then Megatron returned after his three year departure, and things automatically shifted back to their original normalities.

**THUNDER  
><strong>The storm had rolled in faster than expected, and soon, both Smokescreen and Bumblebee found themselves caught in a downpour. Truthfully, Smokescreen didn't mind all that much, happy to see the variation in the planet's climate – despite Ratchet's numerous complaints that had first clouded his judgement.

It was so unlike that of his home. On Cybertron, a storm usually meant acid rain followed, leaving one to seek shelter as fast as possible. Rain on this planet was different; cold as it hit his frame, rolling off his plating in droplets. It didn't even sting, nor burn through in large amounts. It was…gentle, almost, washing him as it fell. And Primus was thunder loud! He felt it travel down to the very core of his being, rumbling as it roared around them. The strips of lightning streaking across the darkened sky as the storm carried on.

Thankfully, Bumblebee didn't mind his sudden stop of awe, and was quite content to sit with him in the rain, telling him of stories of when they'd first encountered the watery substance.

**CHANCE  
><strong>Victory was never left to luck or chance. Victory was crafted from skill and talent, desire and ambition. The Decepticon Warlord had learned that in the darkest dwells of Kaon's Pits, as opponents fell to his hands. This was no different.

The beast that faced him now lacked passion, it lacked drive. The Insecticon was missing the ambition that its master had gone insane with. It was merely a pawn for Airachnid's own goals, and only shared her need for the coup because of the sudden shift in mental control. Its desire for conquest was not its own – it was hers, and therefore the Insecticon would fall like the countless others that had stood before him. As it always was, victory was his, and Megatron promptly tore the creature's arms from its frame.

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><p>Reviews are always greatly appreciated.<p> 


	2. Prompts 6-10

Have some seasonally themed ones. I can't believe how quickly we got snow this year.

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><p><strong>Transformers Prime: 100 Written Prompts Challenge<br>**From war to peace, and everything in-between.

**Prompts 6-10:**

**CHILL  
><strong>Cybertron had never been this cold. At least, not in any of the cities Soundwave had ever bothered to visit. He found it interesting, however, to see how different this planet was from his own. How the substance of snow could form under low temperatures, and quickly blanket the land in a glistening white. He looked down, idly amused how stark his colours were against the icy crystals, how badly he stood out against the white. His frame suddenly shook with a shudder, and he paused.

Back home, a slight chill in the temperature had never bothered him. He'd sometimes welcomed it as a comforting reminder of his continued survival in the pits. Laserbeak suddenly shifted, snuggling in closer to his frame to combat the cold. Soundwave silently mused that the annoyance of the cold was due to the remaining number of his symbiotes.

**SNOWY  
><strong>It never snowed in Nevada, or at least, that's what Raf had told him. After hearing Miko's excited chatter over the prospect of snow during the winter months, Bumblebee wanted to see it for himself. Cold, but fun, she'd explained.

Jack had said he'd seen snow once before, when visiting the mountainous regions of the state, but that it never reached the lowlands. Miko commented how it didn't snow too often in Tokyo either, but that things always got exciting when it did. Her enthusiasm as she retold of winters in the past caused Bumblebee to secretly wish for a snowfall. Ratchet piped in to remind them that their base was located in a desert – snow would never come.

Defeated, Miko backed down, only for Bumblebee to get an idea. Over the week, he dropped hints to Raf to have his and the others' winter gear packed, while he figured out the rest. It would be a surprise. A wonderful surprise, he hoped. He'd found out that the country north of them was notorious for the cold, and at last, with Optimus' permission, Bumblebee bridged the four of them to a short, snowy retreat.

**ALIVE  
><strong>It was dark, and it felt as if the frigid ice around him would swallow him whole. Then again, Dreadwing realized, it _already had._ He fought, struggled, and shifted through the encompassing cold, trying to reach his way to the surface. With a ton of snow weighing down upon him, Dreadwing could feel the frost seeping into the thinnest parts of his armour. He'd only been trapped for a mere number of minutes, and his wings were already numb. Or at least he'd assumed it'd been only a few minutes?

At last there was colour instead of a blinding whiteness, flecks of the planet's blue sky appearing above him. Gasping, he finally broke free, stumbling as he pulled himself from the snow bank and onto more solid ground. His vents burned as the snow melted from them, chunks of the substance still compacted in the seams of his armour – but he was otherwise uninjured and obviously still alive.

Prime. Dreadwing growled, the rumble of his engines heating his frozen systems. Prime had proved to be a worthier adversary than he'd originally expected, and the possibility of losing to him was aggravating. Both of them would be dealt with, both Prime and the traitor would pay. Dreadwing would make sure of that. Without a second thought, he steadied himself, and then took off towards the skies.

**WARMTH  
><strong>Predaking swore his new subjects were younglings. Brethren? Comrades? He wasn't sure what to call them anymore – he was hardly a King when he only had two subjects at his command. And the two were too busy fighting or gawking at each other half the time to pay attention to a word he said. Skylynx and Darksteel were ill-mannered, ill-tempered, and both behaved like younglings. And Predaking had no idea what to do with them.

When he'd first discovered there were more of his kind still alive, and on Cybertron no less, he'd been expecting – well, he'd been expecting more than just the simple two he'd found. Predaking had been expecting a lot more. Instead, he'd gotten these two, two of his own kind that were too distracted to fight properly. It had been an easy battle for dominance.

He wasn't sure why he kept them around either, as he found them to be more trouble than they were worth dealing with. He wasn't sure why they stuck around either, as they showed little care for his company. Yet despite such, on cold nights he'd more than often wake up finding the two of them recharging on either side of him, bundled up under his massive wing span. For warmth, he supposed. Younglings, they were. Ill-mannered, ill-tempered younglings.

**GIFT  
><strong>"I don't understand…" The Autobot commander looked to the child in confusion. "What is this?"

"It's a Christmas present." Rafael clarified, as if nothing was amiss.

Ultra Magnus merely blinked. "I don't understand."

"Oh, Christmas?" The child replied with a smile, "It's a kind of holiday, a celebration of sorts. People get together and exchange gifts. There's a whole lot more to it, but that's the basics."

"And the tree and lights are a part of it?"

Raf turned to the massive pine at the side of the silo, thickly covered in rings of bulbs, decorations and glowing lights. It had been Miko's idea in the first place, but Bumblebee and Smokescreen had outdone themselves. The boy proceeded to nod, "It's a part of the celebration, a decoration of sorts. The presents go under the tree."

Ultra Magnus looked back to the gift in his palm, processing the information. The gift was uneven, badly wrapped, and much to his dismay, incredibly asymmetrical. Yet, it still held a certain charm, a certain shine wrapped under red ribbon. He began to tear the package open with the tip of a forefinger.

"No! Wait!" Again, the Autobot Commander was confused, "Not yet! You have to wait until it's Christmas!"

"But you just said –"

"The twenty-fifth! Three more days. You have to wait until then."

Ultra Magnus was growing impatient. "And you said this was supposed to boost morale?"

It was the child's turn to blink. "Erm, well yes, I suppose it would."

The Commander pondered momentarily, and then moved to place the gift under the tree. "Then the festivities will continue in three days' time."

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><p>Happy (early) holidays everyone! :)<p>

Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	3. Prompts 11-15

Geez, does the time fly. 2014 almost over and done with. Let's hope 2015 proves to be more worthwhile.

Happy New Year everyone!

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><p><strong>Transformers Prime: 100 Written Prompts Challenge<br>**From war to peace, and everything in-between.

**Prompts 11-15:**

**STAIN  
><strong>Humans were such flimsy creatures, easy to break and easy to rip apart. Their outer armour shells were so worthless and thin that Airachnid found a single touch of her claws could pierce through with only the slightest amount of pressure. Truly, they were a waste of her time, easy prey that lacked any source of challenge. _But oh, were they fun to play with!_

She enjoyed their cries, despite the disgusting fluid that often fell from their optics as they begged for mercy. She liked the sounds they made when they died, the hiss and gurgle that climbed up their throats as their screams and pleas failed them. Unlike the other forms of organic life that she had previously encountered, Airachnid found she delighted in their remains and the red stain they always left behind. It was such a pretty colour, red – not the bright, luminescent blue of spilt energon, but a deep and vivid scarlet. Even dead, Airachnid found they brought some form of amusement, strung up like marionette decorations on the walls with that beautiful red pooling beneath them.

**FIND  
><strong>Three years of no action was something Cliffjumper was getting tired of. He spent most of his hours either scouting or resting, and after millions of years worth of war, it felt good to sit back and do nothing for once. But Cliffjumper found he was getting restless, anxious – and the fact that 'Cons could be looming over them at any given moment wasn't helping either. He was used to fighting, throwing himself into battle and giving his enemies the _'horns'_ as he liked to call it. It was a routine, not one he always enjoyed, but a routine none the less. Now – well, now Cliffjumper was bored. The 'Cons had decided to lay low for the last three years and that meant no excitement.

The only way, Cliffjumper found, to get rid of that restless ache was to take a good, long drive. A good couple of miles out on the open road released all the pent up tension within him. He liked the open space this planet offered, the curves and bends of the paved roads and the gravel crust of unfinished ones. Here, in this lonesome desert, you could drive without reason, explore and find something stunning without really meaning to.

And what, would you look at that: the Decepticons had just popped up on his radar.

**JUDGEMENT  
><strong>While Dreadwing had doubts about his leader's judgement, he did not voice them. He knew better. Even when his leader's tactical strategies included returning to Cybertron and ripping the arm off of a dead Prime. Even so, Megatron's new plan struck him as being immensely wrong. Dreadwing was no grave robber, and while he understood that the outcome of their actions could provide major advantages for them in the war, he could not condone his or his leader's actions. Trespassing upon the resting grounds of the dead did not sit well with him – especially desecrating the tomb and corpse of a Prime. For a reason he could not define, it unnerved him when most things could not.

He had fought through almost a lifetime of war, watched his home fall and decay, felt his own brother perish, and yet this small action weighed heavily on his mind. Even as a Decepticon, Dreadwing believed that once joined with the Well of Allsparks, one had rightfully gained an opportunity to rest. It was an ill omen to disturb such rest – especially that of a Prime. He shuddered to think. In the Well, was the dead Prime now running around, suddenly searching for the lost arm he would never find?

He wondered how the current Prime would react to seeing Megatron's new conquest. Would the line of Primes, present and past, seek havoc upon them for their actions? Dreadwing sincerely hoped not.

**PRESENCE  
><strong>Peace and quiet were rare around the silo, with all that went on in the run of a day. The missions from time to time were expected, so was the occasional injury – the Decepticons were never known to show mercy. It was the children Ratchet had trouble dealing with. Constantly chattering and making unnecessary noise – not to mention the grating shriek Miko called music!

They always seemed to be around as well, coming directly from their schooling to join them in the base. Ratchet was too busy worrying about energon rations to care about the trivialities of the children's daily lives. Yet, the others seemed content enough to have their presence around, and Ratchet could understand why. Small talk made things seem better than they were, and he supposed it was an easier way to keep one's mind off of the war. Ratchet just didn't understand why they had to be around _all_ the time. Nor did he understand why their lack of presence suddenly made the base's silence at night so unnerving.

**TAINTED  
><strong>He wondered how he hadn't noticed it until now. Of course, it was a simple thing really, a small issue that hadn't caught his attention until he'd actually checked for it. Now there it was, a screen of toxicity played out on the med bay's monitors.

The matter had never really concerned him in the first place, he supposed, not until he had taken a cube of energon from someone else's rations. Knock Out hadn't meant to of course, but exhausted after the day's events, he hadn't paid much mind to who's cube he had grabbed while down in storage. Dragging himself back to his quarters, all thoughts of a peaceful evening had been broken once he'd sat down and taken of sip of the cube. What had touched his glossa had almost left him gagging; an undertone of bitterness, an aftertaste of staleness that was almost revolting. Low-grade energon was never meant to carry such a distinct aroma, and he knew from experience that it was not high-grade. Somewhere amongst a haze of drowsiness, Knock Out decided to filter what was left in the cube.

The next morning, the results beeped onto his HUD, jolting him from recharge. What he found confused him even further; the energon was tainted, a level of toxicity high enough to be faintly detected. It was a small dose, but taken over a period of time would potentially prove fatal – which begged the question; who was drugging who?

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><p>Reviews are always greatly appreciated.<p> 


	4. Prompts 16-20

First set of 2015. Jeez, does the time fly - this show's been over for a long while now (and when you think about the fact that I started writing these long _before_ the show had even ended...).

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><p><strong>Transformers Prime: 100 Written Prompts Challenge<br>**From war to peace, and everything in-between.

**Prompts 16-20:**

**SPACE  
><strong>Jack was a teenager, and what Arcee could comprehend from this was that mood swings, a hint of unspoken rebelliousness, and sudden hormonal urges were all normal for a human his age. She understood he needed his own space. Of course, none of this meant she was any more lenient when he decided to throw his lunch at the vehicle that had tried to cut them off.

"Jack."

"He was driving on the wrong side of the road and didn't have his indicator on."

"Jack."

"He was one of Vince's friends."

_"__Jack."_

"I hate salads."

Arcee adjusted her rear view mirrors, watching as the vehicle pulled in behind them. There wasn't any driver. "Jack, I'm restricting your driving privileges for the next two weeks."

**BLURRY  
><strong>Bumblebee knew he'd been more or less raised by Optimus and the others. He hadn't seen the golden age, and he remembered very little of the early stages of the war. What he could remember from those times had mulled and fused together, and the only blurry memories that came to mind were of seeking shelter and scavenging for energon. Eventually someone found him – thankfully an Autobot, for Bumblebee now understood what may have happened had it been a Decepticon that had stumbled upon him – and his training as a scout had practically begun.

And things happened. Faces and people he remembered had disappeared as time went on, and even now, he didn't know the whereabouts of some of the friends he could've called his mentors. On Earth, Arcee had helped to hone his abilities as a scout, helping him to learn a few extra tricks to keep on edge on the battlefield. Bulkhead had taught him how to have fun, and also taught him a thing or two about watching his back. And Optimus and Ratchet had been there for him for as long as he could remember.

And so when Rafael spoke on the subject of family, Bumblebee understood the concept immediately.

**NIGHT  
><strong>At one point in time, Starscream had had the ambition to travel to every star in the universe. Every planet was fair game, and his desire to reach them knew no bounds. He dreamt it, sometimes waking with the thoughts of stardust on his glossa. He swore he could almost taste it. Starscream wanted to see every world for what it was, its strengths and weaknesses, perfections and defects. He wanted to find the life that the Academies so often scoffed of not existing, and in his idealistic mind, prove them wrong. Perhaps, he thought now, the notion of escaping Cybertron's oppressive restraints seemed too good to be true.

The night skies here showed all the same stars, and he could still map them as easily as he did back then. Some had changed; celestial coordinates shifted or simply disappeared; only now he wasn't gazing at them from the comfort of a balcony ledge. Now, he was staring up at them from under the ledge of a broken under hanging of an enormous boulder, escaping the frozen rain that poured down.

In a move of twisted irony, Starscream had gotten his wish. Here he was, far off on another planet, far from Cybertron and its past trivialities. He'd found other life; the fleshlings that plagued this mudball's beauty – and the planet had little to begin with. Now, now all he wanted was to go home.

**INTRIGUE  
><strong>Even though he knew Knock Out would kill him for having such thoughts, Breakdown had to admit: the spider intrigued him. He wanted to know how she worked, what made her tick. How a femme her size could almost match his strength. How those spiny little extra legs of hers could tear through almost any armour. There was something about her that kept him coming back for more, even when he knew he shouldn't.

It was a dangerous game. The little smirks she would send his way now and then, turning to absolute devilry and rage the next. Knock Out warned him countless times to stay away, and while he tried to listen, wanted to listen, something wouldn't let him. It all came back down to the spider.

Soon enough, Breakdown learned just what those legs could really pierce through.

**DISADVANTAGE  
><strong>Ultra Magnus knew he was at a disadvantage when it came to the dominate species of their newfound home. Humans were strange creatures, their cultural norms sometimes so backwards and inefficient that he wondered how their societies ever made progress. The language these humans spoke was vexing, sometimes irritating his vocalizer with its harsh syllables – not to mention the troubles of pronunciation as a whole.

Yet the others seemed to do just fine, integrating easily in the affairs of their smaller allies. They had little to no trouble assimilating themselves into the world of their hosts, and he quietly couldn't understand how they had done so in such a short period of time. Six months for him alone, and basic conversations between the children still left him puzzled every now and again. Of course, the others had spent much more time around the humans than he had – years more to be precise, and as the war was finally drawing to its inevitable end, they had an edge he would never be able to possess.

Henceforth, Ultra Magnus kept his dealings with them to an absolute minimum, only conversing with them when questioned or utterly necessary. He much preferred the company and intellect of fellow Cybertronians.

He just wished he knew what a kilt was.

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><p>Reviews are always greatly appreciated.<p> 


	5. Prompts 21-25

Next set. I was planning on uploading these last month, but completely forgot to do so.

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><p><strong>Transformers Prime: 100 Written Prompts Challenge<br>**From war to peace, and everything in-between.

**Prompts 21-25:**

**PLAN  
><strong>Miko's birthday party hadn't turned out the way Bulkhead would've liked. The plan had been to surprise the girl – not for her to have known in advance. Yet, here they were, the children shoving their mouths full of what the Earthlings called _cake._ He hadn't even had the chance to set up any decorations – not that Ratchet cared for that fact in the slightest.

"It's okay, Bulk!" The girl looked over to him, smiling, mouth covered in frosting. "Besides, this is delicious!"

Bulkhead frowned. Even the dessert hadn't fully been finished – plain and simple, lacking both decorations _and _candles. Unfortunately, missions always came up at the worst of times. "Yeah, but Miko, I didn't even get the chance to get you anything. I mean, I should've at least –"

"It's fine, Bulk. Nothing needs to be fancy, and I have way too much stuff as it is. It's the thought that counts, right? You remembered it was my birthday, and that's good enough for me."

**TWISTED  
><strong>The corpses of the dead army rose in sluggish movements, the purple haze seeping out of the ground underneath them, and oozing from their threadbare frames as they were born anew. And they did not end. More and more, the dead Predacon army lurched to its feet as Megatron – no, _Unicron_, called them from their long forgotten graves. And for once, despite his best efforts, Shockwave felt an ounce of worry melt into his processor.

It had seemed at first that Megatron truly could not be vanquished, returning from death at the hands of the Autobots. But upon their Lord's return, Shockwave knew at first glance that something was amiss; Megatron's frame had changed, twisted into something that unnerved him. His suspicions were confirmed when Megatron had finally spoken, spewing words that were not of his own, but those of the Chaos Bringer_, Unicron._ Shockwave would have been lying if he didn't admit it was then that the anxiety had begun to set in. Then, with merely a wave of his servo, the dead army had risen, strong and powerful, ever growing in numbers as the kliks passed. _And they did not end._

When they suddenly turned, glowing purple from their rebirth, facing him and the Seeker with jaws full of daggers and outstretched claws, it was then Shockwave realized that Unicron had no care for the alliances Megatron had once forged. Unicron would burn Cybertron to the Pit and beyond, and the Decepticons had once again lost their leader.

**INCOMPETENT  
><strong>It was scarcely known that there was a full scale war happening between two distinct classes of the Nemesis' crew; the Drones and the Insecticons. Since the Insecticons had become full-time members of the ship's crew, the Vehicons found themselves constantly on edge around the hulking insects; they were loud, unruly, rude, and almost always got in the way. The Insecticons thought much of the same of their fellow crew mates; the Drones were skittish and weak, incompetent in any task they took on, and practically useless for their Master's cause.

This of course, led to an intense rivalry between the two serving classes – secret in nature as to not disturb or disrupt the higher ranking officers. Petty arguments and internal conflicts, closeted scuffles that ended in dented armour and minor scratches – all kept quiet in the possibility of superior backlash and Autobot Intel. Kept under wraps, the two groups were allowed to continue to antagonize the other with well-timed jabs, misplaced supplies, and sometime missing rations – all but weak discomforts in an attempt to provoke the other into something more. And sometime those 'something mores' happened.

When the Insecticons had first arrived, there were sudden major outbreaks of 'violence between crew members'; sometimes Drones would simply go missing, or would miss shifts for unexplained reasons only to end up in med bay much later. Escalation proved fatal; open brawls gave considerable repercussions, and none of them wished to be terminated. It therefore switched to a silent debacle of endless insults and hushed gossip – not helping to lower the animosity between the two groups, but certainly increasing their creativity.

**MESSAGE  
><strong>Alpha Trion's message had given him hope. Rekindled the dimming faith he had in his own leadership.

The very thought that their planet, their home, could be brought back to its former glory, revived back to life once more. They could cleanse the core of that parasitic dark substance, creating clean, consumable energon for all. No longer would they have to scavenge for supplies, fuel for their survival. No longer would they endanger the lives of the human race with their presence. _They could return home._

Now, all that remained were the shattered pieces of the Star Saber lying in his palms, causing Optimus to once again question his role in leadership.

**LULLABY  
><strong>Night had come quicker than either of them had expected. Jack suggested the changing seasons was the cause of that; the nights grew longer as summer swung on into autumn. Arcee herself thought that a sleeping bag alone would never be enough to keep him warm, and while he tried to reassure her, his ill attempt to put together the tent merely added to her skepticism.

In the end, a fire was made, and Jack wrapped himself comfortably up next to her. He'd fallen asleep without another word.

Arcee didn't want to seem overly motherly or push any boundaries, but as the stars shone in the dark, she couldn't help but be reminded of home. So, under the stars, she sang him a Cybertronian lullaby.

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><p>Reviews are love. Reviews are life.<p> 


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